Glimpse
by liliaeth
Summary: What if the Kurgan hadn't died in New York, Kurgan and Methos meet


Title: Glimpse   
Series/Sequel: fits into my Family Ties Universe  
Author: Lore  
Email Address: [demonmother@hotmail.com][1]  
Website Address: [http://lore.ClickHere2.net][2]  
  
Pairings: none  
Rating: Gen  
Fandom/Crossover: Highlander  
  
Archive: yes  
Feedback: please  
Discussion: yes  
  
Warnings: Death fic, AU  
  
Summary: The Kurgan shows up in Watchers Headquarters to meet Methos

So what if nothing is what it seems.  
Take Adam Pierson for example. At first sight a young man, a genius with plenty of linguistic knowledge of all sorts. A scholar and quite a looker. He was also a Watcher. One of those guys that loved to hang out after immortals and study their lives. More specifically he was a researcher.  
  
Ask any of his friends, they'd tell you that he had a sarcastic whit [and] (with) a cynical attitude to life but was overall a decent guy. Ask anyone else, they'll tell you he's boring. Boring and harmless.  
  
They'd all be right. And wrong as hell.  
  
Adam Pierson was Methos. A 5.000 year old immortal with a tendency to get in trouble. Whether it was with his brothers, the ones of his mother, or the ones he chose himself or with those he chose as  
friends ... he could never avoid a major disaster for long. No matter how much he tried to live a calm simple life.  
  
And if you asked him, he'd probably tell you he liked it that way. After extenuating torture off course.  
  
Take today for example. At first sight a boring day of research at the watcher library. A group of researchers getting together to do a joined study session. In other words, a day of fun with friends and  
rivals, high jinks and in-jokes so hard to understand that no one out of the group even had a clue what they were about. Hell, all too often even the researchers themselves lacked even a clue at what the in-jokes were about.  
  
Methos hid himself behind a stack of books and just listened to their banter. It had gotten to embarrassing for his dignity to keep participating. He was supposedly trying to find out where Methos had been during the French Revolution. In reality he was trying to find a way to get rid of the clues.  
  
Now where ...  
  
He grabbed hold of another book, inadvertently having the entire stack fall on his feet. He screeched for a second and grabbed for them. Hitting the table on his way down.  
  
"Hey Adam, you're not trying to hold out on us, your dear friends now are ya?"  
Methos groaned.  
"Of course not guys. But since Simon's story is so hard to beat in the interesting department, ...." He winked at the other watchers. ", I thought I might do something truly fascinating. Like watching the  
carpet grow."  
  
He barely avoided a magazine aimed at his head. Leaning further under the table, and barely avoiding another bump on the head. He was about ready to come up again. Then the others laughter fell still.  
One moment they were laughing, the next, silence. Complete and utter silence.  
  
All he felt was the presence of an immortal that impinged on his mind. Invading his thoughts, driving out all jokes, all emotions, adrenaline rushed in ready for a possible fight to the death.  
  
"Oh Jesus."   
Methos continued sliding out from under the table and stared at the figure standing in the door. His body nearly blocked the entire front door. Methos could see him reflected in the shadows he casted and knew him better than most. He didn't need to see the dark black hair, or the wide scar that covered almost his entire neck. All he needed was to hear the mans voice. Low, hissing...  
  
"The Kurgan." Simon's voice was filled with terror, yet there was a hint of sick fascination in it as well. Methos nearly hit him for stating what was all too obvious.  
  
The crack of his army boots echoed heavily on the marble floor. Methos could see the irony of the mans looks, dressed in an every day business suit, that if not for the earrings, he might havepassed for an IRS inspector.  
  
The guard at the door was still shaking. But Methos thanked any god willing to listen that he'd been smart enough to let the immortal through.  
  
"Oooh Jesus!"   
  
Methos bowed his head in defeat, trying to stay out of sight.  
  
"Hey Methos. You low hearted pile of horse shit that even a pig won't bother to lick. Show yourself you bloated piece of elephant hide or you know what I'll do."  
  
The threat was clearly understood. A less brave or smarter man might have stayed out of sight and just run for it at the first chosen opportunity. But remember, this is Methos we're talking about. And he just 'loves' to attract trouble.  
  
"You rang milord."  
  
The Kurgans mad smirk became even wider as he grabbed for his broadsword. Methos grabbed his own coat, came out of it with his Ivanhoe in hand. He took a step back, losing more and more ground as the Kurgan kicked the heavy mahogany table out of the way. Methos barely got out of the way in time.  
  
While dropping down, he went for the other immortals legs as well. Cutting at the barbarian with his sword. The ancient could see that his Watcher friends were staring at the both of them in shock. Mostly  
at the guy that was rumored to kill bystanders just for the fun of it. But plenty of them could hardly believe that he, demure little Adam Pierson was fighting for his life here. Let out that he was Methos and actually knew how to defend himself.  
  
Barely blocking one of the Kurgans blows, he rolled out of the way, gaining a kick in the ribs for his trouble. He tried to get up, and stared in his opponents eyes. The Kurgan expected him to try and back  
off, so instead Methos tried the insane approach and attack. He charged up right at the barbarian. They tangled up for a second, allowing him a sight of the gleam of fun in the others eyes.

  
"Nice." the hiss was barely understandable as a word. Then he hit back, disarming him in one move. Methos faced his glare and started smiling.  
  
"So you got me."  
  
"I guess I do."  
  
Methos hand went to his second blade, but the Kurgan was ahead of him. His foot [crunching] (crushing) Methos' fist and forcing the sword out of his hand.  
  
"Giving up?"  
  
"Never." Methos tried to get away, but the Kurgans knee held him down.  
  
"Time for fun old man."  
  
Methos tried to break out of the grip and back off. Anything to get away from the torture. But it was too late for that and he was left, grasping for air as the other immortal started a new attack, leaving  
the ancient with tears pouring down his face.  
  
And for a moment Methos couldn't think about the Watchers, or the fact he'd just been caught red-handed. All he could think of was his attackers hands and the torment they were putting him through.  
  
"Please Kurgan, no more." He finally screamed.  
  
But the Kurgan didn't even stop tickling him. "You've gone soft Methos." Methos couldn't help but agree amidst the laughter.  
  
  
*******

Le Blues Bar in the middle of Paris was clear as day, even with all the lights out. It wasn't the best place for blues music. Too cheerful by far, to get the right mood. But today Joe Dawson didn't care about the accommodations. All that mattered was the old fashioned plastic phone that stood right in front of him.  
  
Joe sat down in his chair, one hand tapping on the phone, the other anxiously kneading a stress ball. By now the thing was almost flattened. He had to force himself to keep breathing and stare at the screen. It was hard to figure out what to do. What was most important, his oath, or a friends life?  
  
Even if said friend was acting like a moron with at the least a few screws loose.  
  
Joe could feel the cold plastic waver under his hand. Was it as harsh as the call he had to make.  
'God damn it Methos, how can a man your age be so stupid. You should know better.'  
  
He took his sweet time in pressing the buttons. Even from a number he must have hit a thousand times before. The phone hesitated a second before breaking out in a low drum of waiting sounds.  
  
"MacLeod."  
  
"Mac. Thank God. There's trouble."  
  
The Highlander groaned and muttered something that sounded vaguely like 'why me?'.  
  
"It's Methos ..." Joe had to force himself to say the next words. Then he dropped the bombshell.  
"He went off on a road trip with the Kurgan."  
  
******  
  
The car hurdled over the deserted French country roads. Inside of it two male voices massacred Bohemian Rhapsody at such a level that it should have been considered criminal. The Kurgan hissed the refrain as Methos set in the new verse. Methos choked for a second as he tried to pour down some beer while singing. It didn't help his voice one bit, not to mention that the Kurgan had to beat him on the back to get him breathing again. Methos was still trying to catch his breath when he noticed that his companion had stolen his bottle. He tried to get it back, but the Kurgan held it just out of reach.  
  
Just as he was about ready to grab it, the Kurgan let it drop and grabbed the wheel, forcing them back on their own side of the road. The wheels screeched loudly and a truck missed them by mere inches.  
One second later and they would have been crushed. It only setthem laughing even louder.  
  
The car once again bounded across the road, Methos pulled it back to the right. The Kurgan hit him and Methos ducked down for a second. When he came back up, he was faced with the sight of a cops car in  
his rear view mirror and the siren blaring. How had he missed that one?  
  
Methos held his hand in front of his eyes to prevent being dazzled by the cops head lights. Startled he nearly steeredthe car in the ditch.  
  
"Oh no." The Kurgans head was going up and down so fast that Methos might consider it would end up falling from his neck. And wouldn't that be a sight. Not to mention a nasty way too loose yet another car. "Don't even think about it. You bloated old geek. We can outrun him."  
  
Methos nodded, well he shaking his head as far as he could, then he hit the brakes instead of the gas. The Kurgan ended up with his head on the dashboard. Methos heard some shrieking from behind them as the cop in question fought to keep his car under control long enough to stop it before hitting into them.  
  
"Oh great you damn antique. Now we're really going to get it."  
  
Methos let his head fall on the wheel, hitting the horn in the middle of it. He got up, rubbed his head in pain and took another gulp of beer to forget his headache.  
  
The barbarian next to them scoffed heavily and made a grab for his sword. The thing was stuck under the beer case and Methos broke out once more at the mere sight of it. The Kurgan snorted at him and Methos placed a finger on his lips.  
  
He just wound down the window and waited hanging over it, for the cop to show up. He could see the mans face in abject shock. What could possibly be wrong. Just because the entire car was littered  
with empty beer bottle. The Kurgan grabbed another bottle just as the cop got ready to say something.  
  
Methos leaned over the lowered window, surprised at feeling his hand go down as well, till it hit the frame. He plastered a broad grin on his face and flashed his lashes at the cop.  
"Yes officer?"  
The man took back another step as he smelled the waves of booze floating at him.  
  
"Would you please step out of the car, sir?"  
  
Methos smiled and widened his eyes even more as he hung over the door.  
  
"Why would you want to do that gorgeous. Were we driving too fast?" Methos spoke in his most British accent. So who were the two other twins standing right next to the cop and couldn't they stop moving so much. He leaned over a bit more and the Kurgan broke out laughing. Didn't that man have a stop. God he had a headache.  
"Of course baby. I could do it for a fine bloke like you. But what would offer in return for a favor like that." The cop seemed mixed between horror and embarrassment as his lips twitched a bit. Methos dropped another pound of sugar in his voice. "We were just so comfortable in here. Why don't you join us? It'd be fun, wouldn't it Gerald?"  
  
The Kurgan burst out even louder. Methos grabbed his head for a second.  
  
"Please step out of the car sir."  
  
There was an edge in the cops voice. Methos was wondering why when the choice was taken out of their hand. His knees hit the handle and the door fell right open, with him still hanging through the window. He fell back through [and right] on to the ground.  
  
Looking right up at the cop.  
  
"Oooh yeah baby, like it rough do you."  
  
The cop grabbed him and pushed him up against the car. The man had more trouble keeping him straight, than in getting him to listen. Methos really wanted to cooperate, but his legs just weren't willing to obey.  
  
The Kurgan just sat back, staring at a scene, caught in a fit of laughter.  
  
*******  
  
There were two cells in front of them. Methos was singing a march for the dead as they threw him in one of them. He barely noticed the thud as the Kurgan fell down on a cot in the cell next to him. Other than the both of them the place was empty, with nothing but the hot rays of the sun to keep them company. Damn it was hot.  
  
The Kurgans laughter echoed eerily on the walls surrounding them. The place was to light by far to be a jail. Jails were supposed to be small crammed up spaces with daft airs and insufferable rats scurrying around. Oh yeah, that were dungeons. Nice new experience.  
  
The ancient immortal stared up at the wall and could see the shadows playing on top of the roof. Was that a monkey stealing a crown, with brave knights in hot pursuit?  
  
So what were they accused of now? Driving under influence, carrying hidden weapons. Above all, attempt at seduction of an officer. It was almost funny. Methos started chuckling and found himself unable to stop. In canon. Kurgan laughter, his laughter. Funny song to begin with, growing worse with each continuing burst of it.  
  
  
Methos was just getting the hang of it when his companions laughter turned into snoring and broke up the mood. But Methos head had to much of a buzz to it.  
  
"One bottle of beer on the wall." His voice broke the silence in the room for a second, but all the  
response it got was moans coming from the Kurgan who otherwise didn't even wake up. Well that and an accompaniment of noise as some cop started banging on the walls and screaming at him to stop. Methos didn't let it bother him and just used it as background music. Completely off key of course.  
  
He wasn't sure when he dozed off, he must have gotten at least to the 145th verse, cause somewhere deep inside he could remember using the howling of a dog as a counterpoint somewhere around that strophe. Not that it mattered now as he woke up with someone trying to push a funny smelling cloth on his mouth. He nearly choked on it and stared up into dark blue eyes. There were others, Methos could see the Watcher tattoo on the first ones hand and pushed him crashing into a friend.  
  
The immortal wanted to shout out for help, but a third tried to shut him up with the cloth again. Methos tried to bite him but the cloth was to thick to get to the hand holding it. The mortal just wouldn't let go. Then they shot him.  
  
That's when the Kurgan woke up. The big barbarian jumped up from his cot and tried to grab for the nearest mortal. But he could barely push his arm in between the bars separating the two cells.  
  
The others started shouting then and Methos grabbed for his stomach feeling his life's blood seep away between his fingers. Oh great, just great. He tried to keep on fighting but could feel himself weakening more with every passing second. The Watchers just ignored their fallen comrade in the Kurgans arms. It seemed they had more important things to do, like dragging him away. He could feel his feet slag on the ground and died with the sight of the Kurgan strangling the last remaining watcher that he was using as a shield.  
  
"Methos."  
The Watchers statement shocked him as he stared into Stern's face.

********

There were two bodies lying there waiting for them as they came in. One in each cell. The rhythmic staccato coming from Joe's cane stopped for a second as he stared at the first body. Duncan MacLeod  
kneeled down and turned it around. A Watcher tattoo became obvious on the corpses wrist. Joe looked away for a second.  
  
His neck was broken, twisted slightly, with several wounds covering his face. Duncan turned to his watcher in silence. The gray-haired blues man just stood there, waiting as he stared at the scene from  
the edge of the cell.  
  
"What the hell does he think he's doing Joe?" Oh great, that approach again. Joe got closer ignoring the  
Highlanders disgruntled tone. "Going along with the Kurgan, of all the bullheaded ..." The Highlander caught a breath. "Killing mortals."  
  
"I don't think he had much of a choice in this case Mac. I'm not even sure he's the guilty party here."  
Joe pointed at the blood stretching out to the next cell, up to the body spread on the floor in it.  
MacLeod got up and turned to him. The watcher wasn't sure if he was imagining the hopeful look in the Highlanders eyes or not. Somehow he doubted it. MacLeod wanted to see the good in Methos, he really did. But the old man didn't always make it easy on him. 'Damn it Methos. If you aren't in serious trouble right now, I'm going to kill you.'  
  
"I know this guy Mac. Or knew him. There's a group in the Watchers, officially they don't exist. Officially no one would ever consider creating them. In reality they protect the watchers by taking out dissidents. Watchers who break the rules and such."  
  
"Like the guys who kidnapped you?" It was more of a statement than a question. "Methos ...?"  
  
"This could be bad Mac. Now that they know what he is, I don't think they invited him over for tea and crackers."  
  
*****  
  
Mac stared down at the bloodstains covering the floor unconnected to the dead Watcher.  
"This isn't from him." The stains seemed to indicate that someone had been pulled out of the cell. Someone like Methos. MacLeod followed the trail with his eyes. Seeing it stop abruptly as Methos blood must have stopped flowing. He stared back at the body, a bit reluctant to just leave it behind like this. He knew he shouldn't even have touched it, but it was the only lead he had. Or was it?  
  
It started out slowly, the drum beating faster with every heartbeat. Hitting him like a jackhammer with a momentary spike of presence. He glared at the cell, staring at the unknown face of a man he'd heard  
more than one horror story about. The piercing eyes were there that seemed to make you melt into a puddle on the floor. The scar on his neck that reflected the light coming from in between the steel bars.  
  
The giants hands held on to the bars as if he was going to break them apart to come at them.  
"Kurgan?" Dawson's voice was shaking as he said the name. MacLeod took a step in between his friend and the other immortal.  
  
The Kurgan smirked as he noticed his almost instinctive need to protect. He was rubbing over his chest and the blood stains covering his shirt.. MacLeod tensed up. His stare was for once unsure. Unable  
for once to be certain in what to do, what to say. How to deal with this.  
  
There was a small tremor in MacLeod's muscles as he tried to avoid the Kurgans eyes. His face stood grim, trying to ignore the eyes of the killer.  
  
"So you're the old mans pet Highlander?" The Kurgans gruff voice sounded almost pleasant. MacLeod nearlychoked at the very idea. MacLeod couldn't help a twitch on his lips and if this had been any  
other man, the other immortal might have done well to start fearing for his life. But then, the Kurgan wasn't just any other man.  
  
The Kurgan grimaced as he stretched out. The man seemed to be wounded, unarmed and trapped in a jail cell. MacLeod was tempted to leave him that way. It might be for the good of all of them. But then, not a hair on his head was all that convinced that the big barbarian wouldn't be an easy target.  
  
"Those bastards took Methos."  
  
Their doubts confirmed.  
  
"But my little buddy there was all to willing to tell me where to."  
  
******  
  
It hurt. Methos held on to the pain and gasped for air as he revived. His chest hurt. His gaze was still blood red, he stared at the bloodied knife in front of him. It took him a second to notice the  
hand with the watcher's tattoo on it, holding it in front of him.   
  
When had he been stuck with the knife, he couldn't really remember ... They knew, it was too late to change a thing about it. There were several of them surrounding him. He pushed back, feeling the chair holding him. He couldn't really move. His hands were locked behind him, inside the chair. It was one of those prison things. He'd heard about them once. The reality was even worse than it had seemed on television. He couldn't move, couldn't twitch. Damn.  
  
His stares pierced through his guards, through the men that fashioned themselves his judge, jury and executioners. He tried to move again, feeling the straps on his bare chest. One of the Watchers offered him a sip of water. He stared at the man in distrust, but accepted it anyway.  
  
"Adam Pierson."  
  
Methos shivered under their scrutiny.  
  
"Or should I call you Methos?"  
  
The tremors grew worse, and there was nothing to hide behind, no weapons, no disguises. Nothing but the cold hard truth. These men could now see what he'd been hiding under baggy sweaters. The strong upper muscles, trained to hold a sword and fight for his life. The lean body of a fighter.  
  
He bowed his head, unable to look them in the eye.  
  
"You are accused of infiltrating in the Watchers with the intent to hunt. You have disgraced us. Destroyed all we have held sacred for countless centuries. What do you have to say for yourself?"  
  
They didn't really expected an answer. Methos knew he had no defense to offer. Only denial.  
  
"That's a lie. I've never hunted. Methos tried to get up, but was still unable to move. One of the  
Watchers pushed him back, his hands clenched behind his back. "I may have used you to hide, but I never ..."  
  
"Silence!" Methos could feel the tribunes glare at him. Isaac Stern was a hard [man, an ]unforgiving man. And right now all of his fury was aimed at the immortal tied up in front of him.  
  
"You disgust me." Stern was ten feet away, but to Methos it felt if he was standing right in front of him. "Death is too good for what you've done."  
  
"I'm not a _Hunter_." But any word Methos had to say for himself wasignored. Batted away as inconsequential.  
  
Sterns footsteps sounded hard on the marble floor. He grabbed Methos head, pulling it up.  
"And I should believe that ..." Methos had to keep from blinking, fighting just to be able to keep breathing. "And I should believe that, from a man whom the Kurgan considers a friend. Of all immortals, you want me to believe that even though a monster like that considers you an equal, that you are not a Hunter. Who is to say, how many of your kind that you have handed over to that psychopath."  
  
"It was never like that."  
  
But Stern still wouldn't listen.  
  
"You can kill me Stern, but it won't mean a thing. All you'll do, is destroy the very thing you claim to protect."  
  
"Really?" Stern hit him in the face and Methos could feel his head hit the back of the chair. It stung.  
  
"It will bring you no good."  
  
"Then I'll just have to settle with being happy."  
  
Methos tried to get loose. Fighting ties that held him to the chair as one of the Watchers approached with a sword. This couldn't be the end of it. He was too young. He still had centuries ahead of him. But the Watchers seemed to disagree, and for a moment Methos thought back over all he'd loved. Temlan, the Kurgans teacher and his dearest brother. MacLeod, that insufferable boy scout who'd made him love life again. All the lovers he'd cared about. Joe ...  
  
It seemed to take forever. He saw the sword come at him, so slowly. The sound of it as it came down. The spots on the floor, on the walls. He noticed the double buzz of two immortals approaching. I want to live. But it was too late and he died seeing the shock on both the Kurgan and MacLeod's face as the sword finished its descent.  
  
  
  
***1986***  
  
Methos woke up in cold sweat. Unaware of anything. His eyes were wide open, he could hear himself screaming, with nothing to stop him. Some people stared at him, wondering what was going on. He twitched, unable to stay up. It had only been a dream, nothing more. Just a nightmare. A shimmer of his Over worked brain, a consequence of days in a row of endless studying and nights without sleep.  
  
His hand touched his throat for a second, it felt as if he were still freezing at the kiss of the blade on his skin. He had to steady himself on his desk. Holding on for dear life as the trembling began once more. He avoided all of the mortals eyes. Unable to look at them, after what had happened.  
  
He got to his desk, his computer, his private little block. Breath in, breath out. It wasn't real. He was still here, still alive, still ... Just a figment of his overly active imagination. His hand went out to the phone on his desk almost unconsciously. Maybe he should just call someone. Temlan, the Kurgan, anyone ...  
  
It started vibrating and he picked it up before it even got beyond a single ring. "Matta." The boy sounded devastated. His young voice broken as if holding back the tears. But all he could think of was the risk, the threat the Watchers posed to him.  
  
"Temie. Are you insane. I can't talk right now. The Watchers ..." 'They might kill me, execute me, and there'd be no way to escape it.'  
  
There was a halt for a second. As if the kid was too stunned to think of what to say. Had he hurt him?  
  
"Gerinn's dead." the kids words were spoken in a voice hoarse fromcrying. The boy had lost a son. And for a single moment Methos wondered why he wasn't sad, or upset. Instead a certain calm came over him. "The Kurgan? Who?"  
  
"MacLeod, the Highlander." Methos remembered the Scot from his dream, or had it been a  
foretelling of destinies and might-have-beens. The image grew vaguer with every passing second. More unsure, like strings that unraveled the more he awakened. Had he foreseen this connection?  
  
"Which one?"  
  
"The oldest, Connor." Strange it had been the youngest that he'd seen. Odd, but a relief beyond words. Temlan would kill whomever had taken the Kurgans head and for some reason Methos couldn't help pangs of worry over the young MacLeod.  
  
He turned his attention back to the kid and snickered a single moment. "So he finally avenged Tak-ne."  
  
"Methos!"  
  
"What do you expect me to say Temie. The man was a psycho." Methos didn't know why he said it that way, he too had known the Kurgan better than that. But the shock was to great, the dream to severe and for a single instant, he couldn't help a sense of gratitude coming over him..  
  
"He was my friend, my Gerinn and now he's ... dead." The trembling was clear in his voice that softly broke up. Methos heard it and knew better than anyone how much this must have affected his brother. He couldn't help feel shame coming up over his words, but knew of no way to repair it.  
  
  
"Do you ..." he hesitated a second, reluctant to loose his sanctuary with the Watchers. "Do you want me to come?"  
  
"No!" It was to much for the boy. "We wouldn't want your cover with the Watchers broken, now would we?" Methos could hear the click as the connection broke. For the boy the conversation was over.  
  
The Kurgan was dead. The most dangerous, most infuriating man he'd ever met ... was dead. Never to be seen again, never to be talked to, never ...  
  
Yet, had that been a glimpse in a possible future that now mightnever be? A world where he'd lost his head? Not a good end out of his complacency. No a good end to his way of thinking.  
Dead.  
  
Should he be sad? He'd known the man. The Kurgan had been a friend and confidant for several years, no matter his cruelty, there was something in the man, something more. A small something that always  
came up when him, the Kurgan and Temlan had been together. Or just the Kurgan with anyone reminding the big oaf of Temlan. It had been odd to be able to trust him.  
  
"I'm sorry Kurgan." He grabbed a beer and lifted in a form of salute. "They were good times Gerinn. But better you than me. To life. ."  
  
The end?  
  


   [1]: mailto:demonmother@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://lore.ClickHere2.net



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